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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28333401">The Best Laid Plans</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/au_sein_et_sans/pseuds/au_sein_et_sans'>au_sein_et_sans</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les Misérables (2012)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, british eyes only</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:34:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,860</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28333401</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/au_sein_et_sans/pseuds/au_sein_et_sans</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>i don't even write this shit anymore but i went back &amp; read this story by the same name that i wrote in 2016 and it was so fucking bad omg i had to fix it. this is for my sake so i can read it in like 20 years without absolutely losing my mind at how just terrible it is on the brain. ok carry on</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Combeferre/Enjolras (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. January</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sign on the shop face was gold, which had been Eponine’s choice to repaint, just six block letters spelling out the word “ETREAL”. The office was tucked in between a shoe store called <em>Candie’s</em> and an ancient, LES staple called The Romano Library that Grantaire had never seen anyone ever enter. Etreal was an unassuming presence on the street, one of those stores that one could walk past every day and never register. One of those stores you might pass by and occasionally ask, “what do you think’s in there?” just to make conversation. It was inconspicuous and unimportant and mostly irrelevant—until someone finally popped the question.</p><p>Grantaire never thought he’d work as a wedding planner. If someone had asked him ten years prior, ‘what do you wanna be, kid?’, he might actually have given it some thought. Instead, no one asked him anything - never even implied it. That was why, when his aunt offered him a job at her new office, for the small price of doing only that for the rest of his life, Grantaire finished high school and answered her with a resounding ‘yes’.</p><p>It wasn’t that he adored marriage. He truly just didn’t form any opinions around it. He had no great conceptions about love, either. In all honesty, Grantaire did not equate what he did every day with either of those ideas. He handled <em>weddings</em>—one perfect, romantic day (and for everyone else, the best party you’ve ever been to)—one of those things that are best in hindsight. Grantaire’s job was not to ensure domestic success, nor was it to judge the likelihood of a couple’s chances together, but to peddle the most perfect made-to-store memory. One perfect day, over and over, for every couple who walked through the door.</p><p>He lived by wedding planning. Eating, sleeping, and his own (unfortunate) love life were all secondary. He had found his life’s work, and though he could never possibly hope to be the best at what he did, he could still do it with unrelenting consistency.</p><p> </p><p>The bell above the door tinkled its familiar little song as the door opened, late afternoon. It was January.</p><p>January was Etreal’s biggest wedding month. It was right after all of those holiday proposals, all of those relatives egging young bachelors and bachelorettes to pull the trigger and just get it over with. People facing a chilling winter, and deciding they never want to live through one alone, ever again. January was a time for clueless, busy people with lots of money—these were the clients that Grantaire liked the best.</p><p>He was well within his rhythm of the day when Enjolras found the building. Eponine was in the open kitchenette in the back of the office (which was an endlessly confusing interior design decision made by someone at least three generations of storeowners in the past) making coffee, and Grantaire was poring over the pictures taken of Bahorel’s (most recent) wedding, choosing the best ones to put up on the website. He had fallen into a kind of boredom-induced stupor that only struck him once a day, every day.</p><p>When the chime rang, a man entered, wearing a thick coat, snow dusting his shoulders, and the opening of the door swept a jarring wind through the office. Grantaire leapt at the feeling of cold air on the back of his neck, making his glasses slip down his nose, and the newest client turned into the phantom outline of a person, approaching. Grantaire quickly tapped his glasses farther up his nose and rose to meet the man approaching him.</p><p>As soon as he did, Grantaire felt the air knocked out of him.</p><p>This new client, who introduced himself as Enjolras, was undeniably some hypothermia-induced hallucination. Grantaire made a mental note discard all of Bahorel’s wedding portraitures and use Enjolras’s for Etreal’s website instead, whenever that would be. Hell - a hasty scribbling of Enjolras’s features on a napkin could’ve served for the welcome page, and Grantaire’s aunt might not even mind. They could change their slogan to: <span><em>This handsome man used Etreal for his wedding, and so should you!</em></span></p><p>Grantaire hadn’t realized he’d been sort of silently gaping until Eponine appeared at his side with a steaming mug of coffee.</p><p>“Hello, sir! Welcome to Etreal,” she said, chipperly, “Grantaire’s just buffering. If he can’t get it together to…close his mouth, I can be of service at the desk across the way.”</p><p>“Uh,” said Enjolras, with an awkward kind-of smile that revealed a glimpse of beautifully straight, expensive-looking teeth.</p><p>Grantaire figured he should say something, to at least put himself back in the running for a functional human being, not let Eponine snag the new client (which was rightfully his, as he had fewer projects) <span><em>and</em></span> the satisfaction. He allowed himself a moment to gape more, just to admire the snowflakes gently peppering Enjolras’s silken hair, before he surged into action.</p><p>“I’m Grantaire,” he announced, triumphantly, and Eponine sent a dark smirk in his direction, before lovingly setting down his coffee and waltzing back to her desk. “I can help with a wedding, if you need.”</p><p>Enjolras’s smile melted into one of light amusement, “that’s exactly what I need, yes.”</p><p>“Great!” Grantaire resounded, overly saccharine. The sound of it was hollow and insincere to his own ear—the sort of thing he did with former sorority girls marrying former quarterbacks. This selling point was all wrong. He began to twist the silver ring on his finger, a nervous tic. “Feel free to take a seat!” He went to take a seat as well, before jerking back up.“I mean, take off your coat!</p><p> </p><p>“Or, I mean. Feel free. Do what you want.” Grantaire had thoroughly confused himself. “If you want.”</p><p>He could hear Eponine choke down a derisive laugh. He pointedly did not look at her.</p><p>“I’m fine,” Enjolras’s voice grew impossibly sober, as he sat down in the giant, purple, corduroy chair across from Grantaire’s desk. With relief, Grantaire followed his decisive lead, shoving his pen holder and pictures to the side, in order to properly see Enjolras’s face.</p><p>“So, you’re here to plan a wedding.” Grantaire tried for normalcy.</p><p>“I am.” Enjolras responded, his voice clipped. “I honestly don’t get the point of things like this. I’m almost positive I could plan this better on my own-,”</p><p>“Mm…okay,” murmured Grantaire.</p><p>“-but,” Enjolras narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly, “I’m pretty swamped right now, and could use some help.”</p><p>“That’s…,” the most forthright thing Grantaire had been told by a client, maybe ever, “…fine. We’re happy to be involved however much or little you need us.” Grantaire studied Enjolras’s face carefully. He didn’t feel the <em>need</em> to justify the usefulness of his profession (of which he was not always himself convinced), just the intense urge.</p><p>“Great,” said Enjolras, his voice oozing formality.</p><p>Grantaire responded with a thin-lipped grin. Enjolras might have thought he could throw a better wedding, but Grantaire was going to throw him the most decadent <span><em>fucking</em></span> wedding he had ever seen - and rub it in his ugly, beautiful, beautiful face.</p><p>“I was thinking June,” Enjolras began, as if this were the simplest thing in the world.</p><p>Grantaire was unsure if he had heard correctly. “J… June?”</p><p>Enjolras met him with a blank-faced stare.</p><p>“Of this year?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>People had planned weddings in less time, to be sure, but those people tended to lower their standards a little bit. Enjolras didn’t strike him as the type.</p><p>“O…kay. Well, I guess you could say I’ve got some preliminary questions.” Grantaire scrambled to produce a profiling sheet he had every client fill out based on their tastes. It contained pretty basic yes/no questions, rank on a scale from 1-10 the importance of baby’s breath, etc. He quickly scrawled <span><em>Enjolras Party</em></span> at the top, as the man stared him down with a quiet ferocity.</p><p>“Look - I don’t need to figure out what I want, here,” Enjolras said, leaning forward. “I’ve got the preferences already.” His voice softened somewhat as he noticed Grantaire’s gaze darting back to his questionnaire in distress. “I just need help with reaching out to catering companies and seating arrangements, and stuff.”</p><p>Grantaire could, in an abstract sense, appreciate this. Someone who knew what they want, which Enjolras seemed to. The man was very self-possessed, and well-defined, which he tended to find, in any other setting, incredibly attractive. In a client, however, this decisiveness erred towards close-mindedness. As a wish fulfillment professional, Grantaire was convinced most people did not know what they wanted, not really.</p><p>He scrapped the client profile, for the sake of argument. Enjolras had withdrawn from his shoulder bag a folder labeled ‘Wedding Shit’ and set it on Grantaire’s desk.</p><p>Grantaire let out a surprised chuckle. He gestured to the cover with raised eyebrows.</p><p>“Combeferre named it that, before I had the chance to intervene.”</p><p>Grantaire smiled, softly. “And is that the blushing groom?”</p><p>Enjolras returned his smile, but it was more inward, perhaps thinking of his fiancé. “It is, indeed.”</p><p>Grantaire disregarded the minor rush of excitement he felt at learning Enjolras was gay as a sign of comradery, and not one of personal interest. Usually, couples came in together (or brides with their mothers, or brides with their friends)—it was a wonder why Enjolras had not. Then again, maybe it wasn’t. Perhaps Combeferre knew his charming fiancé was planning on being an unbearable tyrant of the process and wanted to stay as far from the situation as possible. If that was the case, Grantaire was feeling that same impulse.</p><p>“And speak of the devil.” Enjolras laughed, quietly, his phone trilling in his pocket. “Excuse me,” he murmured, as he picked up the call. He turned away from Grantaire, but made no move to give himself more privacy, so Grantaire leaned back in his chair instead of busying himself with an imaginary task.</p><p>“Yeah, ‘Ferre, I’m there, now.” He listened to the reply, just a tinny voice was all Grantaire could hear filtering out. “A place called Eternal, I think.”</p><p>“Etreal,” Grantaire corrected, compulsively.</p><p>“Uh,” Enjolras shot a glance up at Grantaire, his face blank. “Etreal.” He paused for a question from Combeferre. “It’s downtown.” He then angled himself farther from Grantaire, and the latter came to the conclusion that he was being officially excluded from the conversation.</p><p> </p><p>He gave a sidelong glance at Eponine to ensure that she was doing a good job of faking disinterest in their visitor. She was not.</p><p> </p><p>“No, it’s fine, Comb, I’ve got this… You <span><em>can</em></span> come, if you want. But you really don’t have to.” Enjolras listened. “Well, sure, I’ll probably be here for a bit.”</p><p>Grantaire risked a glance at Enjolras, who was looking down at his snow-laden boot. His curls were falling into his face, obscuring his view, but he made no move to brush them away. Grantaire found this really fascinating, for a reason he refused to name, and couldn’t tear his eyes away.</p><p>“Sure, I’ll give you the address. I’m leaving at four, though, I’ve got this big meeting with my boss that I can’t be late to.”</p><p>In his periphery, Grantaire watched Eponine’s head jerk up from her task at the sound of this.</p><p>Then, after a clearly hurried response on Combeferre’s end, Enjolras grew very quiet. In a hoarse voice, he murmured, “what?”</p><p>Grantaire glanced at his computer screen, as Enjolras seemed to be sitting back up. His eyes caught a look at the clock on his computer.</p><p>“<span><em>Fuck!</em></span>” Enjolras exclaimed, suddenly.</p><p>Enjolras shot up from where he was sitting and rushed a goodbye into the phone, hanging up and then tucking it into his pocket. Grantaire stared up at him, eyes wide—Eponine looked much the same.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Grantaire, I’m gonna have to cut this short,” he said, sincerely. Grantaire rose, and extended his hand to shake, and Enjolras stared at it, blindly, before taking it and shaking it with vigor. Grantaire thought, in this state, it was probably best not to keep him.</p><p>“It’s not a problem, we can schedule this for another time.”</p><p>Enjolras did not appear to have heard him. Distractedly, he thanked Grantaire and Eponine both (for what, Grantaire could only imagine), stammering out a couple goodbyes before bursting back out on the street, sending another frigid burst of winter wind into the building. Grantaire felt a bit of whiplash.</p><p>He turned to Eponine, who was gazing at him with her chin on her hand, a sweet, accusatory smile settling on her face.</p><p>“What an exit.” Grantaire said.</p><p>Eponine said nothing, just raised her hands a little, and turned back to her computer.</p><p>“What?” Grantaire asked.</p><p> </p><p>They had met twice more, for increasingly longer periods of time, before Grantaire decided they would settle The Great Flower Debate once and for all.</p><p>Enjolras arrived at the nursery right at noon, as they had agreed, but Grantaire was already there waiting for him. The nursery was called La Macier, and Grantaire took all of his clients to it when they couldn’t decide on a centerpiece without a tangible representation of it. Enjolras’s problem was slightly different however (as were the entirety of problems he presented) seeing as he had a very set idea of what the flower arrangements would look like, and refused to understand that he did not actually want lilies at his wedding.</p><p>Enjolras stood before the most beautiful flower arrangement Grantaire had ever seen in his young life and flat out rejected it, countless times on that basis that:</p><p>“Combeferre likes lilies!” He insisted. Grantaire groaned, audibly.</p><p>“You’re being ridiculous,” he said, shooing away the breathtaking arrangement with a reluctant hand. “Lilies are so <em>funereal</em>. You can’t be swayed towards peonies? Lilac? Enjolras, roses.”</p><p>“Roses.” Enjolras stated, as if this was the ludicrous thing he had ever heard. “Roses are for romantic comedies, and middle school dances.”</p><p>Grantaire made a face. “What middle school is gonna pay for roses on every table?” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “What middle school did you go to?”</p><p>“That’s not the point!” Enjolras bristled, throwing his hands in the air. When all Grantaire offered him in response was another indignant face, he heaved a great sigh, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Just. Show me one bouquet with lilies in it. Only one.”</p><p>Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I will, but I won’t let you get it.”</p><p>“Fine,” Enjolras snapped, exasperatedly.</p><p>Grantaire called to Jehan to prepare one to the best of his ability on the spot, and Jehan disappeared into his greenhouse.</p><p>“They’re called arrangements, by the way. When they’re on a table.”</p><p>“Whatever.”</p><p>They waited in silence, Grantaire poking a look at the other arranged flowers Jehan had scattered around the office where he entertained his clients. Grantaire thought an arrangement featuring fat white peonies was particularly tasteful, but upon a glance at Enjolras (who was staring intently at his phone) figured the man would never recognize good taste in any measure, and kept it to himself.</p><p>Jehan reappeared with a flourish and a bundle of lilies with green foliage filling in the gaps, with sunny daffodils tucked neatly and tastefully beneath the rest. He picked at it, here and there, mentally making possible adjustments.</p><p>“Jehan you agree with me here, don’t you? Calla lilies are too, I mean… Tubular. They stick out so awkwardly, there’s no possible cohesion you can achieve without making all of the arrangements really tall and thin and—"</p><p>“I’ll take it,” interrupted Enjolras, slipping his phone into his pocket.</p><p>Grantaire was surprised at the flame of anger that surged at Enjolras’s dismissal. “But! But—you’re not listening to me,” Grantaire spluttered, spinning his ring around his finger. “Enjolras, <span><em>please</em></span>.”</p><p>Grantaire made a movement toward him, and Enjolras stepped forward as well, pushing him back with his fingertips. He didn’t move him very far, just enough so Enjolras could block Grantaire’s distraught face from view as he faced Jehan and affirmed— “I’ll take it.”</p><p>Jehan nodded, curtly, with a meaningful glance at Grantaire, and turned back to write up a receipt. Grantaire seethed wordlessly.</p><p>was working up a pretty good rage.</p><p>“What the hell, Enjolras!” Grantaire exclaimed as soon as Jehan ducked into the back to retrieve an order form, and realized immediately as the words left his mouth that his outburst was highly inappropriate for the situation. “What am I here for, if you won’t listen to a word of advice I give? We showed you the arrangement and it is so clearly, <em>objectively</em> ugly. Obviously no offense, Jehan, you did the best you could.” Grantaire directed the last part to his friend, to which he received no reply. “Lilies are unsalvageable.”</p><p>Enjolras turned back around to him, a surprisingly pleased expression settled across his face.</p><p>“Combeferre likes lilies,” he repeated, for the thousandth time. Grantaire made his infuriation evident.</p><p>“<em>I get that!</em> Combeferre is a big fan of lilies, and I am unbelievably happy for him,” he said, quickly, and turned oddly severe. “But you keep talking about what Combeferre likes and what he wants! What do you like, Enjolras? What do <em>you</em> want?”</p><p>Enjolras seemed a little stunned, as though he hadn’t expected the question. “What does it matter?” He asked.</p><p>Now, <span><em>that</em></span> was something Grantaire had never heard a client say.</p><p>Clients came to people like wedding planners and florists for the reason of getting exactly what they wanted. There was rarely anything more important to a customer than their own self-interest and Grantaire hardly ever had to tease it out of them. He had a harder time of forcing flexibility. As of that moment, Enjolras was breaking records for most stubborn, selfless fiancé.</p><p>“It matters,” was all Grantaire could come up with. “You’re half of the whole damn wedding.”</p><p>Enjolras’s amusement relighted his face. He let out an unexpected laugh. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”</p><p>This was exceedingly cryptic, and Grantaire was about to counter it, when Jehan re-entered with a gust of wind that smelled like daises, and the requisite forms. He assumed all of Enjolras’s attention, asking about the amount of tables he’d need, and the ratio of green plants to flowers, and Grantaire was content to slink into the background—interjecting only every other minute.</p><p> </p><p>Grantaire sunk his teeth into his slice of re-heated pizza, and winced as it burned his tongue for the third time. He sucked in air quickly but didn’t bother waiting for the pizza to cool off before he continued eating it. It was arguably one of the more delicious vicious cycles in Grantaire’s life.</p><p>Grantaire flipped the page of his magazine, another one of those wedding dress catalogues that spewed arbitrary do’s and don’t’s of spring wedding fashion, for over-excitable and eager to please brides, who were willing to pay twice the normal amount for a wedding dress if a magazine told them to. (All of them.) Grantaire scoffed when he got to the page about strapless dresses (because there’s always a page about strapless dresses) and he sent a prayer to all of the poor, unsuspecting brides who would spend their entire wedding day ceaselessly pulling up their dresses.</p><p>He took another bite of pizza, and it burned his tongue again.</p><p>Suddenly, his computer pinged, from where he had left it open on his email. He had been scouring Bahorel’s wedding pictures again, this time to find a picture to send to the framers. He had emailed Eponine a few of them, and he was awaiting her sullen reply that none of them were any good (her roommate was Bahorel’s second wife, after all). Grantaire figured she had finally decided on the choice few adjectives she’d use to describe them, until he got to his computer and saw who the email was from.</p><p>It was from an email he didn’t have saved, but it wasn’t very hard to figure out who it might be. The name “enjolras.acadian@gmail.com” with the subject title: ISSUE.</p><p>All the email said was: <em>The baker in charge of the wedding cake won’t return my phone calls.</em></p><p>Grantaire rolled his eyes and stuffed the rest of the pizza in his mouth, tapping out a quick reassurance that he would handle it.</p><p>
  <span>Enjolras’s reply came almost immediately afterward, as he was no doubt perched over his computer. </span>
  <em>Okay, but I’m going to meet with them on Monday, so you have to get in touch with them by then. What are you doing right now?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Grantaire squinted at the screen. The last question seemed <span><em>almost</em></span> like a genuine interest in his whereabouts, but he could tell what Enjolras was really getting at.</p><p>“I said…I’ll…handle it,” Grantaire said, aloud, as he hastily typed it in. This time Enjolras’s email took a bit longer, and Grantaire almost suspected he had relented, but there was no such thing.</p><p>
  <em>I still think I should be able to communicate with the bakery if I needed to. If I can’t trust them to be reliable with me, without a middle man, I have no reason to use them.</em>
</p><p>Grantaire sighed. Enjolras could sound really pigheaded when he wasn’t speaking in person. Of course, when he was speaking in person it didn’t matter what he was saying—there’s something about good looks that softens the sharpness of the tongue. In only the few times they had met, maybe once or twice a month, Grantaire found his facilities to combat Enjolras on anything (within means, he was still a paying customer) were failing him. When it was over email, however, Grantaire found it less difficult to argue. He took advantage of this.</p><p>The conversation that night went on for an hour or so, the topic straying from the specificity of wedding planning to speaking more generally of when to grant someone the benefit of the doubt, and when to, in Enjolras’s words, “save yourself the trouble”. It was unclear how such a situation unfolded, but there was something so gripping about Enjolras’s quick, concise responses that kept Grantaire from abandoning the event from the sheer unprofessionalism of it all. Grantaire ended up talking himself in a circle, and though Enjolras didn’t necessarily win, he was never forced to concede the point either.</p><p>What he <em><span>did</span></em> concede was for Grantaire to call the baker the next day, tighten the logistics of their Monday meeting, and schedule a cake tasting for two months in advance.</p><p>After that, communication flowed regularly between them. At the sight of any minor inconvenience, Enjolras was in Grantaire’s inbox, essentially asking for his help but never in so many words. Grantaire was cautiously happy to oblige, but fully glad that his opinion was being given more weight in Enjolras’s decision-making process.</p><p>Sometimes at night, when Grantaire was tired of editing pictures, or looking at the same four, equally unusable wedding venues, he would relent and they would talk about bigger picture stuff. They would always begin with something wedding-related, like whether or not to put disposable cameras on the tables or how old the flower girl should be, and someone would slide in a non-sequitur that would send the conversation veering off track, and it would take hours to right itself again.</p><p>Sometimes Grantaire would smile to himself, late at night, when he made an especially good argument, or verbalized a thought that had been on his mind for some time, and Enjolras would be right there five to fifteen minutes later with a response similarly well thought out. No one ever bothered to have conversations with Grantaire like this, either because they weren’t interested in the subject, or just weren’t interested in what he had to say about it.</p><p>Other times, Grantaire imagined Enjolras emailing him back at midnight, with Combeferre in the bed beside him, telling him tiredly that the light from the computer was keeping him up. This made Grantaire feel very cold and odd, and he would say goodnight quickly.</p><p> </p><p>It was only Wednesday, but it was a Wednesday in April, the most infuriating of all months, and Grantaire felt like he was dangling between extremes. He had precious little on his plate but didn’t feel confident in his work, or the quality of it. He didn’t feel confident in anything, like he was toeing a line. He felt like he was walking on a tight rope, and that he had been doing so for a long time, but felt nowhere near to the end.</p><p>Mostly, Grantaire needed to get out of the office.</p><p>Etreal was absolutely decked out in white furniture. It had white desks and walls and computers and chairs, and the entire kitchenette was white and polished. The color was swimming in Grantaire’s eyes, and finally by midday he had grown a splitting headache in his ears, that he couldn’t quite shake. The inside of Etreal was white, and the outside world was grey, and all he wanted to do was curl up in his sofa in his apartment, where nothing was white or grey or needed doing.</p><p>Grantaire’s computer pinged with an incoming message, and he found that Enjolras wanted to schedule an impromptu meeting, because he had apparently encountered some complication with the bridesmaid dresses. Grantaire didn’t feel like dealing with it, or dealing with anything, but he desperately needed to get some fresh air, so he offered that they meet at a coffee shop down the street. Enjolras said yes.</p><p>When Grantaire announced that he was going, Eponine just narrowed her eyes at him.</p><p>“You don’t do meetings in coffee shops,” she said, carefully.</p><p>“Today I do,” Grantaire said, defensively.</p><p>“Uh-huh,” was Eponine’s reply.</p><p>Grantaire left anyway, pulling his umbrella out and over his head, to shield himself from the discourteous bombardment of rain. Eponine wasn’t wrong - he had never taken a meeting with a client that wasn’t either in the office or on-site. That being said, he had done a lot of things with Enjolras that he had never done with any other client. Try as he might to forget it all, Eponine’s skepticism was well-deserved.</p><p>Grantaire ordered himself a coffee and sat down in a cushy chair, and just sat there, twisting his ring. He considered grabbing a book from a broken-down bookcase in the corner, or busying himself with his phone, but he quickly fell into a trance-like state, staring at the floor and just sitting. He let his mind turn to white noise.</p><p>“…rantaire?” came a voice, and Grantaire looked quickly up, but the steam from his coffee had fogged up his glasses, obscuring his vision. He began to blush wildly as Enjolras chuckled at him, but before he even managed to greet him, Enjolras had plucked Grantaire’s glasses from his nose and was cleaning them on the front of his own shirt.</p><p>Grantaire just watched it happen, any words he could’ve said died in his throat. Enjolras admired his handiwork, and gingerly handed them back to Grantaire without a word. Grantaire slid the glasses back on his face, pretending the accidental brush of his fingers against Enjolras’s freezing hands never took place. He stored the fact that Enjolras had bad circulation in the back of his head, for no reason.</p><p>Enjolras suddenly looked very tired, and pulled off his jacket, throwing himself into the plush chair that Grantaire had dragged over to face his own. He threw his head back, resting it against the soft material, and shut his eyes. Grantaire just stared at him, rarely ever seeing Enjolras in a state where he wasn’t wired or argumentative or being stubborn. It was a shock in itself that Enjolras wasn’t really doing anything.</p><p>Grantaire’s eyes unabashedly traced the line of his throat, followed the path of a raindrop that fell from a curl of his hair, to where it trickled down his neck, and slipped beneath the collar of his shirt. Grantaire gulped, his mouth suddenly very dry, and the movement of him grabbing his mug of coffee and taking a desperate gulp caused Enjolras to open his eyes again.</p><p>“Sorry,” he said, and Grantaire could hardly manage a shaky grin. “I just really needed to get out of the office.”</p><p>Grantaire’s nod practically shook his skull loose. “I know what you mean.”</p><p>The corner of Enjolras’s mouth turned up to reveal a few pearl-like teeth. Enjolras smirked often, but this one in particular was…different, to say the least. <span><em>Downright filthy</em></span>, to say the most.</p><p>“How would you know?” Enjolras asked, sliding a finger between the collar of his button-down and his damp skin. “You work in a goddamn IKEA. It’s like a mix between one of those ‘modern homes’ from a Pottery Barn catalogue, and a doctor’s waiting room.”</p><p>“You just named, like, the three most depressing places on Earth,” Grantaire retorted. “You’ve proved my point for me.”</p><p>Enjolras nodded, thoughtfully. Grantaire liked him much more when he was exhausted, he seemed less likely to challenge him.</p><p>When Enjolras didn’t seem like he was about to continue, Grantaire looked down at the hem of his sweater, before glancing back up for a split second. “And where do you work?” he asked. He tried to make the question sound as nonchalant as possible, and not at all like something he had sunk hours into wondering whenever Enjolras would show up at Etreal in a suit and tie, apologizing because he hadn’t had a chance to change out of work clothes.</p><p>“The Acadian offices, uptown,” Enjolras said, without hesitation. He leaned his elbow on the arm rest and touched his fingertips to his face as he closed his eyes again. “Corporate America, what can I say? I work on floor forty-seven, and I’ve got a whole office to myself, and I hate it.”</p><p>Grantaire was silent, just watching him.</p><p>“My boss is a metrosexual micromanager whose been working for this promotion for twelve years. He tells me that when he becomes CEO, I can have his corner office. I hate that, too, unbelievably more so. I want to tell him that in twelve years I’d rather be in a casket on the bottom of the sea than in that corner office.”</p><p>Grantaire snorted, which made Enjolras blink his eyes open in surprise.</p><p>“Right? It’s reasonable, too. Combeferre just thinks it’s depressing.”</p><p>The mention of Combeferre made Grantaire’s shoulders tense, as he remembered the point of the meeting. It was not to press Enjolras for personal details that had nothing to do with wedding planning, and it was not to sip coffee and listen to the rain on the glass windows until the workday was over. Never having met Combeferre was screwing with his head. It made Enjolras seem like his own entity, separate, available.</p><p>Grantaire tried his best not to sound pointed as he muttered, “I hate the city sometimes. Ever consider getting married in Venice?”</p><p>This, now, brought Enjolras back to the matter at hand as well. He glanced out through the window at the rain coming down and ran a hand through his hair. “Honestly, I never considered getting married at all.”</p><p><span>This made Grantaire’s insides twist. “Until now, you mean.” </span><em>Until you met Combeferre, and you finally did. He made you want to get married, settled you down, made you all in love and committed. </em>“Until now,” he said, again.</p><p>Enjolras gave him the most curious look. “Yeah, I… Until now.”</p><p>Grantaire shook his head, sort of an errant movement to shake off the tension eating him alive. Enjolras had no idea what that heavy staring was doing to Grantaire.</p><p>And it didn’t matter.</p><p>They stayed in the coffee shop for three more hours, and Enjolras met the coffee shop owner (Bahorel’s fourth partner, believe it or not) until Enjolras got a call from his boss saying something very urgent and important had happened, and he needed to be back at the office Right That Second and where had he even gone in the first place? Enjolras said his goodbyes and disappeared back into the rain. Grantaire only stayed in the coffee shop for fifteen minutes more, talking to Bossuet about things that he didn’t pay attention to, and pulled on his jacket and followed where Enjolras had left, but turned the other direction to head back to Etreal.</p><p>It wasn’t until he was home that night, setting a timer for the pasta he was cooking, that he realized neither of them even mentioned the bridesmaid dresses.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. May</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh!” Grantaire cried, by way of greeting to Eponine. “Isn’t May just a sight for sore eyes? The sun has reappeared, and the people are out and about once again! We still have a few weeks until all of our spring fever couples come in with those last minute marriage plans, and everything is good!” He hugged Eponine tightly around the neck. “Everything is lovely!”</p>
<p>“If you don’t get the fuck-,” Eponine grumbled, muffled by the denim of Grantaire’s jacket. She managed to wrestle him off of her and fussed with her hair for effect. “You’re acting crazy because you get to hang out with Enjolras all day.”</p>
<p>Grantaire shrugged. “Could be, maybe, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just really excited about cake tasting, Eponine, ever thought about that?”</p>
<p>Eponine smirked. “Is cake a euphemism for something?”</p>
<p>Grantaire scoffed. “You’re disgusting.” He turned away from her, and back toward his desk where he had the itinerary laid out on his desk. He scanned it one more time, knowing it practically by heart, and knowing it was without flaws. “<span><em>And</em></span> you’re sad that I get to hang out with pretty boys, and Cosette is still out of town.”</p>
<p>“Cosette has nothing to do with this,” Eponine said, hurriedly, her cheeks turning crimson. “I couldn’t care less about Cosette, thanks.”</p>
<p>Grantaire sent her a sly look. “Of course not.”</p>
<p>Eponine’s eyes narrowed, “at least <span><em>I’m</em></span> not the one with a schoolboy crush on a-” the chime of the door signaled that they had company.</p>
<p>They both turned to see Enjolras in the doorway, wearing a very soft-looking long-sleeve t-shirt. He held his hand up, silently, as they both gauged whether or not he had heard any of the passing conversation between them. When he showed no signs of recognition, Grantaire finally stopped holding his breath, and scooped his itinerary into his arms.</p>
<p>“I’m ready if you are,” he said, shaking the papers in his hand slightly. Enjolras nodded, curtly, and let himself out again, holding the door open for Grantaire to follow. He shot one last look at Eponine. “And goodbye to <span><em>you</em></span>, Bitter.”</p>
<p>She flipped him off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s a <span><em>nice venue</em></span>, Enjolras,” Grantaire groaned. He had forgotten how impossible Enjolras could be when he was functioning at full capacity.</p>
<p>“Don’t look at me like that,” Enjolras insisted, and continued stalking back to his car. “That’s the most depressing church I’ve ever been in, and I was raised Roman Catholic. There are no windows.”</p>
<p>“You’re kidding,” Grantaire breathed, reaching the passenger’s seat door and opening it for himself.</p>
<p>“No, I’m not,” Enjolras said, turning the key in the ignition immediately. “It had like three windows in the whole thing, and they were each the size of a shoe.”</p>
<p>“No, about the Roman Catholic thing.”</p>
<p>Enjolras just glanced at him. “Huh? No, that’s true.”</p>
<p>“So, maybe, forget churches,” Grantaire scanned his list of venues as Enjolras backed them out of the church parking lot. He crossed off the three other churches on the list that made this one look like the Louvre Pyramid. Enjolras watched him do this out of the corner of his eye.</p>
<p>“Or…I mean, it can be in a church,” he said, softly. “It can even be in that one.”</p>
<p>Grantaire looked back up at him. “But you just said-”</p>
<p>“I know.” Enjolras said, staring purposefully at the road ahead of him. “It doesn’t matter, just a…stupid prejudice.”</p>
<p>“You keep saying it doesn’t matter, but it does.”</p>
<p>“Why would it matter?” Enjolras said, and looked back over to Grantaire, where he gaped at him.</p>
<p>“You keep saying that, too! It <span><em>does</em></span> matter!”</p>
<p>“What’s the next venue?” Enjolras asked, quickly.</p>
<p>“Enjolras! It matters!”</p>
<p>“I don’t understand why you’re saying that, so just <span><em>drop it already</em></span>!” Enjolras yelled, the sound of his voice ricocheting off of the windows and reverberating in Grantaire’s ears.</p>
<p>The car got very quiet.</p>
<p>Enjolras sighed.</p>
<p>Grantaire just furrowed his eyebrows, and looked out at the road, too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next venue was sort of a garden, but it had a larger area, less stocked with foliage, where the ceremony could take place. It was on the estate of a great mansion, but the mansion was historic and couldn’t be entered for the party, so it was basically just the garden.</p>
<p>“Outdoor weddings are tricky,” Grantaire murmured, touching a nearby petal of a flower he didn’t recognize.</p>
<p>“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, his voice downright pained. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why you take such high stock in my decisions, but it doesn’t matter, I shouldn’t have lost it like that.” Enjolras’s gaze was fixed on the side of Grantaire’s head, and he didn’t want to meet it.</p>
<p>“I’m not…,” Grantaire was being petulant with a vengeance. “Outdoor weddings are tricky,” he repeated.</p>
<p>Enjolras sighed.</p>
<p>“It could rain.”</p>
<p>“It might not.” Enjolras sounded tired.</p>
<p>“But it could,” Grantaire reinforced. “And if it did, you wouldn’t even have the house to go inside of, you’d just have to stay outside and pout about it.”</p>
<p>“I can’t help but feel like you’re talking about me, and not the general ‘you’.”</p>
<p>Grantaire couldn’t help the smile that tugged on his lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p>
<p>“No?” Enjolras’s voice was mirthful, and Grantaire could hear the smile even though he had turned so he couldn’t see the other man’s face. “So, the image of me, rain soaked, and pouting like a child on a grand estate wasn’t immediately conjured to mind?”</p>
<p>Grantaire allowed himself a chuckle.</p>
<p>“I’m shocked you think so highly of me as to not assume that would be my immediate reaction.” Enjolras’s voice was plying, and genuine. He wanted to make Grantaire laugh. He wanted Grantaire’s help, and he wanted him to be there, so he was trying.</p>
<p>“I see you more…cowering under folding chairs to keep the suit from getting wet.” Grantaire turned around. “You’ll get out of the situation alive, and dry, but without your dignity. I will be the one pouting.”</p>
<p>Enjolras smile was smaller now. “I look forward to it.”</p>
<p>Grantaire felt his chest tighten. “Alright, I won’t make you have any input anymore. You can have your dark church, and your lilies, and a fucking…tie-dyed suit, and I’ll just watch it all happen with awe and dismay.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Enjolras said, his smile widening.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The following three venues were all about as successful as the previous two. They were either too small or too expensive or ugly or inconvenient. They had driven out of the city, an hour upstate, an hour and a half back. They all didn’t work for a multitude of reasons (none of which was helped by Enjolras having the highest standards on the planet) and Grantaire decided to call it a day without visiting the last venue. He elected, instead, for the cake tasting which had been too long deferred.</p>
<p>They arrived at the bakery, and Marius greeted them jovially at the door.</p>
<p>“Hey, guys!” He said and made a sweeping gesture with his arm to welcome them inside. “I’ve got a whole table set up, and me and the gang will leave you with some privacy, as to provide maximum impartiality.” He handed them little cards with the names of each cake and a box next to the name. “Just check off the ones you like and leave the ones you hate blank.”</p>
<p>“Can do,” replied Enjolras, already staring down the red velvet cake like a predator. They had been venue-hopping through lunch, and Grantaire felt his own stomach grumble at the sight of the spread as well. Marius sensed their attention grow exceedingly scarce, and backed into the kitchen, withdrawing himself from the path between them and the cakes.</p>
<p>Enjolras immediately situated himself on the left side of the banquet table nearest to the array, and Grantaire sat himself down across from him. The first cake slice on their card was a dark chocolate raspberry mousse cake, and Enjolras found it and dropped it in front of them. He took one bite and crinkled up his nose, as Grantaire made a noise of shock, and took an even larger second bite.</p>
<p>“Right off the bat, turns out you’re even more wrong about cake than you are about flowers.” Grantaire shook his head disapprovingly.</p>
<p>“How can you eat that?” Enjolras asked, shaking his head, and smacking his mouth twice as if to get rid of the taste. “It’s like eating dirt. Only more bitter.”</p>
<p>Grantaire just shook his head, somberly. “You’re the most difficult person I know.”</p>
<p>Enjolras stuck his chin out. “I’m skipping to red velvet cake now, as a consolation.” He took several large bites and sighed, contentedly.</p>
<p>Grantaire didn’t touch it. “I don’t like cream cheese frosting.”</p>
<p>“Neither does Combeferre,” Enjolras said, mouth full. “We won’t have it, but it’s a personal favorite.”</p>
<p>Grantaire bit down on his instinct to take Enjolras’s head in his hands and shake him until he made a choice for himself.</p>
<p>They tried a lemon honey cake next, and although it made Grantaire’s head hurt with the sweetness, they both put it down as a ‘maybe’. Then there was the pineapple flambé, which, to Marius’s credit, was exceptionally well done, but not a winner. Then it was the vanilla cake with chocolate frosting, the chocolate cake with vanilla frosting, a strawberry cake with unrecognizable pearls of…something in the frosting but was not entirely unpleasant.</p>
<p>There was a lavender and vanilla cake, which brought tears of joy to Grantaire’s eyes, and he finished it even though he knew he shouldn’t, but Enjolras insisted that the fact that it had been made with a flower would be too exotic for the extended family. Grantaire wasn’t quite sure why this disqualified it, but it went unmarked.</p>
<p>Finally, they decided on the lemon and honey cake, but they would modify the recipe so that it wasn’t nearly as sweet, and it was a bit less dense, as it would be a summer reception, and filling cakes never made people feeling like getting up and dancing. Grantaire counted it as a success that they could leave the bakery without bloodshed, and they waved goodbye to Marius who was staring at the empty dish where the lavender cake had been—the plate all but licked clean.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Alright, alright,” Grantaire laughed, after Enjolras berated him for eating more cake then he did actually judging of the cake, and stopped on the sidewalk, pulling out his itinerary. “We’ve just got one last thing.”</p>
<p>“What’s that?” Enjolras asked, his smile still wide across his face.</p>
<p>“Suit shopping,” Grantaire said, and he resisted the urge to cartoonishly gulp. He wasn’t totally sure if he’d be able to control himself watching Enjolras try on suit after well-fitted suit, close enough to touch, but forced to still his traitorous hands.</p>
<p>His worry was stunted as soon as Enjolras twisted his mouth to the side. “I think we’d need Combeferre for that, don’t you?”</p>
<p>Grantaire raised his eyebrows. He felt a bit like an idiot. “I do. Yeah. Yes, yeah, I do think that, you’re right.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure I already have a suit in the recesses of my closet, I’ll be fine.” Enjolras began to walk again, back toward his car where they had parked down the street. “But you should go with Combeferre, he definitely does not.”</p>
<p>Grantaire bunched up his forehead but struggled to catch up with Enjolras. “Y’know, I haven’t actually met the guy, yet.”</p>
<p>Enjolras looked genuinely shocked. “You haven’t? I thought he came by that one time.”</p>
<p>“Mmmm.” Grantaire tilted his head. “Not with you, no. Or any time else, ever.”</p>
<p>“Huh.” Enjolras punctuated. “Well.”</p>
<p>“I don’t even know how to get in touch with him,” Grantaire continued, as if he actually wanted to.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry about that, I’ll connect the two of you.”</p>
<p>Grantaire frowned a little. He had never prepared himself for having to meet Combeferre. Though well aware that it was bound to happen sooner or later—he had been granted an invitation to the wedding itself—but that was in the abstract. Now, they were a month away, and Combeferre still didn’t have a tuxedo, and they didn’t have a venue.</p>
<p>They didn’t have a venue, Combeferre didn’t have a tuxedo, Enjolras still wasn’t married, and Grantaire had no idea what he was going to do when Enjolras was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Like…am I being a shit wedding planner on purpose?” Grantaire asked pleadingly, his beer bottle swinging precariously in his hand.</p>
<p>Eponine caught it from his lax grip and set it back down on the sticky table at which they were situated.</p>
<p>“Do I normally do this?” Grantaire asked her, almost as an accusation. “Do I get down to one month before a wedding and, like, <em>nothing</em> has been decided, still?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, ‘Taire,” Eponine said, quietly. “Do you?”</p>
<p>“I don’t think he does,” Marius chimed in. “You usually come in to test cakes with the couple, like, four, five months in advance.” Grantaire shot him a pitiful look. “Which I always think is overkill and was glad to see you’re now doing things at an almost normal schedule.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, maybe Enjolras is doing you good,” Jehan said, pleasantly.</p>
<p>Grantaire scoffed. “Hardly.” He said, miserably. “I’m definitely tanking his wedding on purpose.”</p>
<p>“Oh, honey,” Cosette cooed, lovingly. She sat on the other side of Eponine and reached over her to pat Grantaire on the shoulder. “Do you really think that’s true?”</p>
<p>“I haven’t even met the guy he’s marrying,” Grantaire admitted.</p>
<p>The table ooh-ed, audibly.</p>
<p>“That’s probably not…,” Jehan struggled for wording, “the best.”</p>
<p>“Maybe you should…eventually,” Bossuet rubbed the back of his neck. “That seems imperative to planning a wedding for two people.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, it’s his wedding, too,” Cosette agreed, softly.</p>
<p>“<span><em>I know</em></span>,” Grantaire stressed, itching at his ring. “I <span><em>know</em></span>, I promise you that I know that already. I’m going about this in the worst way imaginable.” Grantaire studied the table, mournfully. “I’d be better off just giving the job to you, Eponine. They’re willing to pay well. It’s a really good opportunity.”</p>
<p>“No way,” Eponine said, forcefully but not unkindly. “You’re just about the only person who could reason with Enjolras.”</p>
<p>“This is true,” Marius confirmed. “He was about ready to sack me before you talked him off the ledge.”</p>
<p>“Plus, I saw you two in the coffee shop,” Bossuet said, and Grantaire couldn’t look at him. He felt Eponine boring holes into the side of his head.</p>
<p>“What happened in the coffee shop, Bossuet?” Eponine asked, quietly.</p>
<p>“<em>Nothing</em>, of course.” Bossuet said, immediately. “Enjolras just looked really…serene, I guess. Basically nothing like a guy ready to be married in two months.”</p>
<p>Grantaire continued to stare down at the grain of the table.</p>
<p>“He changed the flower order.” Jehan suddenly added.</p>
<p>Grantaire’s head shot up, and everyone got very quiet.</p>
<p>“He…what?” Eponine asked, her voice incredulous.</p>
<p>“Only for one table,” Jehan corrected. “For table, like, nine or something, like, oddly specific.”</p>
<p>“Nine’s where I…,” Grantaire’s voice was hardly a whisper.</p>
<p>“Figures,” Jehan chuckled nervously at Grantaire’s grave expression. “He didn’t change much in the arrangement, just went from lilies to lilac.”</p>
<p>“Only for that one table?” Cosette asked, voice laden with confusion.</p>
<p>Jehan replied, without tearing his eyes from Grantaire’s. “Uhh…yeah. Didn’t explain why, either.”</p>
<p>“That’s weird,” said Bahorel.</p>
<p>“Shut <em>up</em>, Bahorel,” said everyone else.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Grantaire didn’t know what time it was. He also definitely didn’t <span><em>want</em></span> to know what time it was.</p>
<p>He had fallen asleep at his desk twice since Eponine left. His eyes ached just from staying open. He yawned so wide that his jaw popped, which only woke him up momentarily, until his eyes glazed over again. He’d been staring at the same mockup of a couple’s save-the-date card for almost ten minutes, without so much as touching the mouse. Their expressions were frozen, and their eyes were dead. The smile cemented on her face was phony and he looked like someone whose hands would be permanently sweaty. Grantaire felt sorry for them, and then he felt sorry for himself, and then he felt sorry for them again.</p>
<p>He clicked to the next picture, which was a “candid” of him kissing her on the cheek. This was less stiff, at least, and the smile on her face seemed maybe halfway to genuine. Grantaire didn’t look forward to meeting them or shaking the clammy hand of the groom-to-be. He emailed her back the “candid” with a short message, <span><em>This is the one! I’ll be seeing you lovebirds soon. xx</em></span></p>
<p>Grantaire almost vomited at himself, and then promptly fell asleep again. He was woken up an indeterminate amount of time later by the bustle of jingling at the door, and blinked, blearily, toward the sound.</p>
<p>“Rise and shine!” Came a voice that he was expected to be Eponine’s, telling him he had slept through the winter and missed Christmas, but was a shock when it wasn’t. “I brought Chinese food.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t order any—,” he began, to the stranger. He realized he couldn’t see anything because his glasses had fallen from his nose, so he slipped them back on. “I mean—,” he stammered, when he saw who it was. “I don’t… I mean… Was the door not unlocked?”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t sure if you’d be here,” Enjolras said, disregarding Grantaire’s rambling entirely, and lovingly setting the paper bag onto the table in the kitchenette.</p>
<p>“There’s no good reason why I would be,” Grantaire said, standing apprehensively. He was more than ready to accept Chinese food from a stranger, but Chinese food from Enjolras was a different story. There was no reason why Enjolras should be bring him food after, Grantaire checked his watch, midnight? He could’ve sworn it was earlier than that.</p>
<p>“Neither can I,” Enjolras said, pulling a plastic container of soup from the bag, and the irresistible smell of it flooded the room. “Maybe because you work late every night?”</p>
<p>“I do not,” Grantaire said, contrary on instinct, as all he could focus on was the container of chicken and rice that followed the soup.</p>
<p>“Oh, really?” Enjolras followed his gaze and pulled the container up to his chest. “Admit that I’m right or you get no Chinese food.”</p>
<p>“You monster.” Grantaire’s disgust was only partly exaggerated. Enjolras just smiled and shook the container a little to emphasize his point. “Do I have to admit that you’re right all the time? Or just about me working late.”</p>
<p>Enjolras considered this. “It <span><em>was</em></span> just about you working late-.”</p>
<p>“Fine,” Grantaire snapped, stepping forward and reaching for the food.</p>
<p>Enjolras withdrew it further from his reach. “—but the price just went up. Say that I’m right all the time.”</p>
<p>“You’re right all the time,” Grantaire said, without hesitation.</p>
<p>Enjolras threw his head back a little and laughed. If Grantaire wasn’t so tired, he would’ve been distracted by it. (He was still a little distracted by it.)</p>
<p>“Now tell me I’m a genius, who knows everything about wedding planning,” Enjolras continued, keeping the container from arms reach, while pulling more boxes from his bag. Grantaire itched to grab the food from his hands. Grantaire itched to grab the skin on Enjolras’s face and pull him close.</p>
<p>Enjolras was wearing a deep maroon henley, the first two buttons undone and falling open to reveal delicate skin. Grantaire knew Enjolras smelled good, he was practically sure of it. He knew he could get a fistful of Enjolras’s shirt, and pull as hard as he could, and bring the tantalizing skin of Enjolras’s neck up to his face - up to his <span><em>teeth</em></span> - and make himself as close as possible. He knew he could, and he wanted to. So, <span><em>so</em></span> badly.</p>
<p>“Quit staring at me like that,” Enjolras said, and for a minute Grantaire felt his stomach drop. “You’re not gonna get out of this one by giving me some face. Call me a genius or you can watch me eat all this food myself.”</p>
<p>“You’re a genius,” Grantaire heard himself say, his voice utterly wrecked. He was so tired, so close to doing something strange.</p>
<p>“And…,” Enjolras prompted.</p>
<p>“And…,” Grantaire parroted.</p>
<p>“And I’m a genius who knows everything about wedding planning.”</p>
<p>“You’re a genius who knows everything about wed…,” Grantaire heard himself trail off. His voice was too breathy, and he could feel that his eyes were too wide. He couldn’t change it, though, he could only sense it. His heart was beating wildly in his chest. Enjolras shouldn’t have come. Why did he come?</p>
<p>“And you’re gonna tell me,” Enjolras said, opening the containers one by one and diverting Grantaire’s attention again, “that you’re gonna eat this food that I brought you, and then you’re gonna thank me, and then you’re gonna go home and actually get some sleep for once.”</p>
<p>“Um,” Grantaire said, “I’m gonna—”</p>
<p>“No,” Enjolras laughed, such a generous and welcome sound, “you don’t need to repeat all that. You just need to promise you will.”</p>
<p>“Sure,” Grantaire practically pleaded.</p>
<p>“Say it.”</p>
<p>Grantaire’s stomach flipped at the sound of Enjolras ordering him around. Although Enjolras was bodyguarding the food and Grantaire was ravenous, he would do anything for him even if the circumstances were not so tacked against him. He would do damn near anything Enjolras asked, and anything Enjolras demanded.</p>
<p>“I promise I will,” he said, meaningfully.</p>
<p>Enjolras’s face fell slack after that, and his gaze suddenly flickered down Grantaire’s face. He only faltered like this for a second, before pulling a fork from the bag and dropping it into the pan of chicken and rice.</p>
<p>“Eat,” was all he said.</p>
<p>Grantaire did. He ate until he had regained something close to humanity, and Enjolras’s proximity had awakened every nerve in his body, so he was considerably better than he had been before.</p>
<p>“Can I ask you a question?”</p>
<p>Grantaire looked up from the absolute massacre he was inflicting on some broccoli drenched in garlic sauce.</p>
<p>“What was your wedding like?”</p>
<p>“My—,” Grantaire nearly choked. Fighting back the burning threat of a coughing fit in his throat, he just shook his head. “<em>My</em> wedding?”</p>
<p>Enjolras extended a delicate pointer finger at Grantaire’s left hand.</p>
<p>“Oh, the…” Grantaire glanced down at the wedding band on his finger. “No, I’m not married. It’s not a wedding ring.” This was a half-truth.</p>
<p>Enjolras chewed slowly and contemplatively. He stared at Grantaire’s ring and then back at his face like he was pondering his way through a lie. Which it wasn’t—it was a half-truth.</p>
<p>Grantaire watched as Enjolras finished off the last of the fried rice and dropped his fork into the bag it had come from. Enjolras leaned back in the uncomfortable plastic chair, and stretched his long arms over his head, dropping his head back and stretching. He was tired too, it was obvious. It wore on his shoulders all the time, it made him look older than he was. He scrubbed a hand down his face.</p>
<p>This wasn’t a man who deserved to have his wedding ruined. Someone who would bring a friend—an employee, basically—Chinese food because they knew they would be working still, and starving, didn’t deserve to be sabotaged. Enjolras didn’t just deserve a decent wedding, he deserved the best in the world. So that for one, perfect day he could forget about the Acadian Offices, and the city, and a Roman Catholic childhood, and just be present, happy, and marrying the most perfect man in the world.</p>
<p>So, it wasn’t Grantaire. What did that matter?</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was one last venue on the bottom of the list that Grantaire hadn’t visited with Enjolras that day. It was a new one—it had come under new ownership and the person was renting out the space for nearly anything. It was clear that whoever had made the ad was unfamiliar to the world of overselling your product, and the venue might as well have been an abandoned parking lot out in New Paltz.</p>
<p>But, again, it was a venue Grantaire had never seen before and it was now only three weeks to the wedding, and he was desperate.</p>
<p>He didn’t feel like making it an event, and he might have needed some time alone when he wasn’t thoroughly going out of his mind, so he borrowed Eponine’s car and drove out to the site by himself. He drove down the highway into New Jersey, which he hadn’t done in years, and the long stretch of road that was uncharacteristically empty was immensely soothing.</p>
<p>By the time he reached the venue, which was in North Bergen, he was blissed out. He got out of the car and was instantaneously met by a courteous valet driver who took his keys, and very graciously didn’t sneer at Eponine’s piece of shit car. He wandered up the stairs of the great building in front of him, and at the top, almost as zealous as the valet was a woman with big, curly hair and a bright smile.</p>
<p>“I’m Musichetta! Welcome to The Waterfront!” She announced with zeal.</p>
<p>It took Grantaire all of fifteen minutes to decide that this was the wedding venue. He stayed there to inspect for two more hours, of course, as leaving too excitedly would have been in bad form, and she might’ve driven the price up. As is, the price of renting the entire venue, the waterfront and the Great Hall, was still on the higher end of the price range that Enjolras had laid out for him.</p>
<p>Instead, he acted very discerning, running his fingers along dust-free pieces of furniture and pretending to find things he distasted. He said the waterfront was nice, but a little drafty. He commented on the size of the kitchen, which was bigger than many he had seen so far but pretended that the cake was so luxurious that he was skeptical it would fit through the door.</p>
<p>By the end, Musichetta looked a little insecure about the situation and the surprise on her face when Grantaire offered to rent it for the wedding was evident. Of course, he was aware this would be sent through several rounds of approval other than his own, but his confidence was high. The place was great. Perfect to a heartbreaking degree.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There, there, my sweet,” said Bahorel, tenderly, patting Grantaire on the hand appeasingly. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that.”</p>
<p>“No, you’re right. It’s worse.” Grantaire moaned, from his reclining position strewn across Eponine’s lap. “It’s worse. I wish it was as <span><em>good</em></span> as all that.”</p>
<p>Cosette shook her head, from where she was sitting on her and Eponine’s living room floor. “That’s not true, you’re not giving yourself enough credit. The wedding has really come together, ‘Taire, and you made that happen.”</p>
<p>Grantaire let out a pathetic sound, rubbing his ring finger. “I guess I’m not really talking about the wedding anymore.”</p>
<p>“If you’re talking about the venue, I think that if Enjolras was really all that broken up about not getting first veto, he would’ve stormed the office by now,” Eponine said, and he felt her hand in his hair again. “You’re pretty sure he trusts you, no?”</p>
<p>“Sure, but apparently things at work are chaos. He has no choice.”</p>
<p>“Good!” interjected Jehan. “He makes <span><em>bad choices</em></span>, Grantaire. And you make good ones! He’s better off trusting you than he is trusting himself. He’ll love the venue, because you can do no wrong.”</p>
<p>Eponine snorted. “That’s a stretch.”</p>
<p>“I’m tired of this, R,” said Bossuet, loudly. “No more self-pity. It’s two weeks until the wedding. You have the venue, the flowers, the cake, the tuxedos, and everything else will be supplied by Musichetta. You’re fine, Grantaire, you’re in the clear. It’s gonna be a beautiful, magical night, or it’s gonna be terrible and full of scandal, but either way when it’s over you’ll clock out and leave it behind. Enjolras might wake up in fifteen years and realize that he let the best opportunity of his life slip through his fingers. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you get paid.”</p>
<p>Grantaire’s eyes suddenly widened. “No.”</p>
<p>Bossuet tilted his head slightly. “Excuse me?” He asked.</p>
<p>“Fuck.” Grantaire was in pieces. Where had his mind gone. “Shit. No.”</p>
<p>“Grantaire, <span><em>what</em></span> is going on?” Cosette asked, rising to her knees.</p>
<p>Grantaire began to shake his head, furiously. “The tuxes.”</p>
<p>Eponine suddenly gasped. “Grantaire, you didn’t.”</p>
<p>Grantaire whipped around to her. “The tuxedos.”</p>
<p>“Oh my god,” Eponine murmured hoarsely, her hand over her mouth.</p>
<p>“What?” Bahorel demanded. “What the hell, guys?”</p>
<p>Grantaire stood suddenly from where he had been tucked on the couch and stalked down the hallway, where he began to pace.</p>
<p>“The tuxedos,” he heard Eponine say. “He never did the tuxedos.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Grantaire wore a silver band on his left hand.</p>
<p>He started wearing it a year and a half after his aunt had gotten him the job at Etreal. He never told anyone it was a wedding ring, or an engagement ring, but he wore it on his fourth finger, and it was silver. It looked the way it did for a reason.</p>
<p>The first year and a half of wedding planning had been a constant bombardment of ‘you’re a wedding planner and you’re not married! What <span><em>irony</em></span>!” and “this is my fourth marriage, son, I think I’d know a little bit more about romance than someone who’s never been married before’. And ‘you’re so romantic! Remind me to introduce you to my sister at the wedding!’. Some people didn’t trust him to plan their wedding at all and took their business elsewhere in hopes of finding someone more ‘experienced’.</p>
<p>So, Grantaire bought himself the ring and all of a sudden the questions, judgements, and matchmaking stopped. He was taken seriously. Sometimes, like Enjolras had, they even asked what he did for his own wedding. He’d describe his parent’s, or he’d describe a nightmare catastrophe, or he’d describe the most perfect wedding he could think of. In the end, they trusted him. All because he had a silver band on his finger that he had bought for fifty or seventy-five bucks. It was worth the peace of mind.</p>
<p>As Grantaire stood outside of the tuxedo shop, he twisted that band around his ring finger until the skin under it grew red and chafed. He observed this and kept turning. His hands couldn’t stay still. He kept turning it and turning it; the sharp pinches now and again kept him alert and kept him present. Every time a car would go by he’d give the ring a sharp turn. Every time a man seemed to be approaching him, he’d jam the ring harder down onto his finger.</p>
<p>He stood outside of the shop for fifteen minutes and twisted the ring until the wrist doing the twisting ached like hell. Finally, he dropped his hand to his side. And that just happened to be when—</p>
<p>“Hi, you must be Grantaire,” came a voice.</p>
<p>Grantaire turned to his right, and found a tall, muscular man with a killer bone structure, eyeing him down. What could be worse. They deserved each other.</p>
<p>“I’ve heard great things about you,” said Combeferre.</p>
<p>How tall was this guy? “And I, you,” said Grantaire, offering his hand. Combeferre’s massive hand practically covered his own. Grantaire wanted to shrink into the pavement.</p>
<p>Suddenly, someone appeared at Combeferre’s shoulder. Cherubic and slight, about half the height of Combeferre, wearing a loose top and the type of joggers made for fashion rather than athletics popped out from behind Combeferre’s broad back. He was panting, as if he had just ran to catch up.</p>
<p>“Hi, there!” He exclaimed and shot an exceedingly friendly smile at Grantaire.</p>
<p>“Hi,” Grantaire murmured. “I’m sorry…you are…?”</p>
<p>The man’s eyebrows shot up, instantly. “Courfeyrac,” he said, as if that name were supposed to have some sort of meaning to him.</p>
<p>Grantaire nodded, slowly. “Of course. The…best man?”</p>
<p>Courfeyrac’s face almost comically darkened. “What the <span><em>fuck</em></span> did you just say to me?”</p>
<p>Combeferre’s face fell as well, but not out of anger. In a sort of preemptory move, he wrapped one of his thick hands lightly around Courfeyrac’s upper arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The smaller man was looking at Grantaire so menacingly, Grantaire doubted whether or not he had ever really known true fear until that moment.</p>
<p>“Are you fucking <em>KIDDING</em>—,” Courfeyrac began to holler, before Combeferre suddenly whirled him around, his large back blocking Grantaire’s view of Courfeyrac entirely in a move that Grantaire could probably thank for saving his life. Grantaire, quick as a whip, began to get the impression that he had said something wrong.</p>
<p>A lot of hushed whisperings were conspiring behind the wall that was Combeferre’s broad back, and Grantaire only picked up fragments from Courfeyrac’s end, who was worse at whispering than Combeferre. A lot of sharp consonants and ‘kill him’s were thrown around, and Grantaire suddenly felt very at home with the seasoned dramatics of a…bridezilla. Not typical antics of a best man. A realization was dawning on him, but it was far away and unclear, like squinting at something straight into the sunset.</p>
<p>He was in the dark and couldn’t stand it. Something was wheedling in the back of his mind—something that had been said, mentioned, tossed out casually. He went back to twisting the ring on his finger but it did nothing to distract him. The pain only made him acutely more focused. Eventually, Courfeyrac’s murmurs were less excited, and Grantaire watched as Combeferre pressed a tender kiss on Courfeyrac’s lips. An awfully intimate move between a groom and his best man. Surely, he was seeing something he shouldn’t be.</p>
<p>“Hello again, you idiot,” said Courfeyrac, when they turned around again,and Combeferre nudged him in the ribs.</p>
<p>Grantaire let out a chuckle that sounded like one long, sustained exhale</p>
<p>“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Combeferre said, softly.</p>
<p>“<em>I think so, too</em>,” Courfeyrac said, not nearly as soft. His scowl was searing.</p>
<p>“Um,” said Grantaire.</p>
<p>Combeferre took a step forward, standing intentionally between Courfeyrac and Grantaire, and looking soberly down at the latter.</p>
<p>“Grantaire,” he mused, “who <span><em>exactly</em></span> do you think is getting married in two weeks?”</p>
<p>“Um,” said Grantaire, again.</p>
<p>“Choose wisely, my friend!” came Courfeyrac’s shrill voice.</p>
<p>“You and Enjolras?” Grantaire quavered.</p>
<p>A shriek rang through the air.</p>
<p>Combeferre tore back around to Courfeyrac and grabbed him by the shoulders.</p>
<p>“Courf!” He commanded, “chill it the <span><em>fuck </em></span>out!”</p>
<p>This miraculously seemed to work.</p>
<p>Courfeyrac fell silent, and then, with Combeferre having moved to the side, made eye contact with Grantaire. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” he concluded.</p>
<p>“I…,” Grantaire swallowed, his mouth unbearably dry, “I have a profiling sheet.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>As it turned out, Enjolras was spot on with all of his decisions he had made for the couple. It was no wonder Courfeyrac and Combeferre had enlisted him to help them plan the wedding. He seemed to know them even better than they knew themselves. They answered Grantaire’s yes/no, rank 1-10 questions with varying confidence, but their answers all inevitably lined up with everything Enjolras had informed him in the process.</p>
<p>Courfeyrac liked summer weddings and citrus, and Combeferre liked lilies (of course) and despised cream cheese frosting. They both adored the waterfront idea, and upon the introduction of the venue, Combeferre moaned a sigh of relief with a hearty, “thank GOD it’s not one of those Gothic churches.”</p>
<p>Grantaire was impressed. He was shocked, but at the same time, he wasn’t. If anyone could know their friends so well it would doubtlessly be Enjolras. Grantaire might not have been able to, but at the same time he was a much less observant person. He was much less patient, too. He was much less selfless. He wouldn’t have balanced an entire working schedule <span><em>and</em></span> singlehandedly planned a wedding that wasn’t even his. Not all while dealing with an irritating wedding planner, which could hardly have helped.</p>
<p>By the end of the day, Courfeyrac had forgiven him, but Grantaire wasn’t even close to forgiving himself. He got beautiful tuxedos for both grooms (they insisted on trying them on separately, because seeing each other would be bad luck) but he was distracted. They gave him no arguments, reached no laborious compromises. It felt altogether too easy.</p>
<p>He felt like dirt. No, lower than dirt. He felt like an idiot, who had gone through about six months thinking he was in on some great cosmic joke only to realize that he was the punchline. He was walking around with fogged up glasses, every day for months.</p>
<p>There was also a thrill in his chest that he couldn’t suffocate. A treacherous, perilous pearl of longing that he was cherishing amid all the regret. He couldn’t think about it, though. He couldn’t look at it or it might disappear. Or worse, he would have to admit to feeling hopeful and ridiculous and he would just die on the spot of embarrassment.</p>
<p>Grantaire’s job was not to define what ‘love’ meant. Not to anybody who asked him, though no one ever did. He was simply not qualified to speculate on the definition of love, so he made a point to never bother himself with it. But now he was suddenly on the other side of the desk, pleading with himself for a bit of sage advice—a way to plan ahead. All Grantaire could give to himself was a shrug, and a helpless shake of his head, and that wasn’t enough.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Enjolras had been assigned to a project that required him at work whenever his eyes were open, and his heart was beating.</p>
<p>Grantaire didn’t see him until the wedding.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. June</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The wedding was a roaring success, as much as that sort of thing can be.</p>
<p>It didn’t rain. The sky was bright and sunny, and they had the ceremony on the water, and the reception in the evening on the patio, until the sun went down. As soon as the sun had set, Courfeyrac stood from where he was sat next to his new husband, and the sound of fork against china rang through the party. Combeferre’s parents looked up from where they were debating as to why the flowers on the table nine were different from the rest of them. The mumbling of the crowd dissipated until the only sound lingering was that of the glass, and the soft rush of water down the hill.</p>
<p>Grantaire heard this change in volume, and excused himself from the kitchen, where he had been supervising, stepping back out into the night.</p>
<p>“‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you directly without problems or pride: I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love.’”</p>
<p>Grantaire couldn’t count the number of times he had heard Neruda recited at various weddings, this sonnet in particular. Courfeyrac’s reading was dramatic—sincere, probably, but dramatic.</p>
<p>“’Except in this form in which I am not nor are you, so close that your hand upon my chest is mine, so close that your eyes close with my dreams.’ I always thought that was beautiful,” gushed Courfeyrac. The celebrating party clapped politely, and Courfeyrac’s mother wiped a tear from her cheek.</p>
<p>“I never thought I’d be marrying my true love,” Courfeyrac continued, and Combeferre gripped his hand, tightly. “And, trust me - it wasn’t easy.” The crowd laughed, knowingly. Grantaire watched as Courfeyrac’s friends nodded at one another, and Combeferre leaned his hand against his husband’s arm. “I’ve had some pitfalls. But it was worth it.” He gazed down at Combeferre’s beaming face. “Dear God, was it worth it.”</p>
<p>Grantaire could only conjecture.</p>
<p>Combeferre rose to meet him, and took his husband’s face in his hands, and kissed him. The party clapped and cheered and whooped, and Grantaire smiled to himself. He smiled in the very darkest part of the night, where no one could see it, lest he be accused of caring for the institution of romance. Enjolras rose from beside his friend to make his best man speech, looking very much like himself as ever, that monster. Grantaire turned and went back into the kitchen before he could utter a word.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The wedding finally wound to a close at one in the morning. Combeferre took the most persuading to leave, but his husband was committed to getting him alone with a type of fervor no one could combat. Grantaire watched as they left from the window inside, watched the family members crowd up on the front lawn to wave them off, the sound of tin cans filtering away into the distance. Then the family members got their coats on, took food to go in little boxes, stumbled around taking final pictures with the disposable cameras that Grantaire found so tacky, got in their cars, and they disappeared, too. All in their own time. He made the lonely trudge up the side of the hill, and around to the back patio which was still strung up with lights.</p>
<p>The aftermath of a wedding was always eerily the best part. It’s still full of the life and spirit of so many people—people at their happiest. The sounds of cheering and laughter was still heavy in the air, but at the same time, it was still the emptiest that the venue has ever been. So devoid of life simply because there had been a surplus of it mere moments ago. Grantaire knew he had to finish talking payment with Musichetta and the chef and the rest of the kitchen staff, but he told himself that just for a minute, he’d take a seat.</p>
<p>He chose one at table nine. He looked at the arrangement in front of him. The powder-light purple of the lilac looked starkly white in the darkness, and the string of lights around the patio threw shadows this way and that across the table. He tooled with disposable camera off to his right, and found that it had room for five more shots, and took one of the flowers, just as they were.</p>
<p>“I’m glad you like them.”</p>
<p>Grantaire stiffened.</p>
<p>“I got them for you, of course.”</p>
<p>Grantaire swallowed, the sound resonating in his ears, loudly. He couldn’t move, he was shellacked in place.</p>
<p>“You hardly sat there all night. I was worried that the gesture had been lost on you.”</p>
<p>“I’m sitting here, now,” Grantaire hardly choked out.</p>
<p>“Yes, you are,” Enjolras affirmed.</p>
<p>Grantaire couldn’t bring himself to turn and look at him, so it was a good thing Enjolras walked around.</p>
<p>Boy, was he hard to look at. He had loosened his tie just an inch, so it hung teasingly around his neck. His hair was mussed from a long night of hugging and dancing, and everything that had looked so put together in the beginning was now falling apart all at once. The fairy lights kissed his skin in an ethereal glow, and shadows hung about him, making him look more sharp, more angled. He had his hands tucked into his pockets.</p>
<p>The words wouldn’t come. “I’m guessing by now, um, Combeferre told you…what I thought,” Grantaire cleared his throat. He was ready for the big laugh from the universe. One excruciatingly long lead-up, he was ready for it to just go ahead and really let him have it.</p>
<p>“He did.” Enjolras said, diplomatically.</p>
<p>Grantaire’s gaze faltered as he began to speak, and focused instead, on his hands. “I don’t know if I… I mean was I really so…? Didn’t you kind of act like…?” There was no good way to end the sentence.</p>
<p>Enjolras rocked back on his heels, thoughtfully. “I thought it was obvious.”</p>
<p>“Why would it be obvious?” Grantaire asked, unable to mask the incredulity in his voice.</p>
<p>Enjolras withdrew his hands from his pockets, then. “For one thing, I was never wearing a ring.”</p>
<p>“You… Are you sure?”</p>
<p>Enjolras let out a breathy chuckle, despite himself. “Yeah. Not once. Not ever.”</p>
<p>“Fuck.”</p>
<p>Enjolras shrugged. “It’s okay.”</p>
<p>“<em>Fuck</em>.”</p>
<p>“It was just an oversight, it’s fine.”</p>
<p>“I am <em>so </em><em>bad at my job</em>.”</p>
<p>Enjolras began to laugh, outwardly. It wasn’t like the cosmic laugh that Grantaire was waiting for though, full of derision. It was a relieving sound. So relieving that Grantaire couldn’t help but join him after a few moments. Grantaire rubbed the pads of his fingers into his eyes in circles. His laughter felt almost like panic bubbling out of his chest in a few breathy gasps. It was fine - it really was. Enjolras said so, himself.</p>
<p>Grantaire opened his eyes again to find that Enjolras had stopped laughing.</p>
<p>Instead, Enjolras was searching Grantaire’s face. He stared at him intently. His gaze was impossible to avoid, so Grantaire just met it, instead. All humor in Enjolras’s face was lost, and for fleeting moment Grantaire was worried that he had found some way to ruin things again. He wouldn’t be surprised.</p>
<p>“Grantaire, come here.”</p>
<p>He felt the panic rise in his chest again, even though it had just been released. In equal measure he felt the thrill, he had been feeling it all night and it was going to kill him. Still, he did as he was told. Grantaire stood from the high-backed chair that he had coaxed Enjolras into letting him order from the furniture rental, and walked around the table that Enjolras had decided on renting himself, and he stood before Enjolras, who was wearing that well-fitting suit he promised he had deep in the recesses of his closet—and who had never looked better.</p>
<p>“All that time…when you thought I was getting married,” Enjolras began, and Grantaire realized this was the lead up to something he would be helpless against. “All that time - what did you think of me?”</p>
<p>Grantaire was too close to Enjolras to consider this clearly. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”</p>
<p>“Okay, I’ll be more specific.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>“When we talked. For hours, into the night. Just to call you again when I got off work. During work.”</p>
<p>Grantaire. “I…thought you were being nice.”</p>
<p>“Uh-huh,” Enjolras breathed, and took a step closer.</p>
<p>“I thought God sent you to test me,” Grantaire said, lightheartedly.</p>
<p>There was no trace of humor on Enjolras’s face anymore. His expression was dark, menacing in its determination. One last step and Enjolras’s lean body was nearer to him than it had ever been, and if Grantaire had been serious then God was evidently testing him more than ever. There was no space for air between them, but that didn’t matter because there was no air in Grantaire’s lungs either.</p>
<p>“Then I guess right now,” Enjolras purred, and with velvety fingers, slid Grantaire’s glasses from his nose, “I’m just being really, <em>really</em> nice.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” Grantaire said.</p>
<p>And Enjolras kissed him.</p>
<p>Now, Grantaire had only worked at Etreal for about five or six years. But he had spent five years trying to cultivate the most perfect moment, and then duplicate it over and over again. And sometimes, he got close to being successful. But he had one serious detriment; he had never had a moment to base it on. He was just taking a shot in the fucking dark. That was, until Enjolras kissed him, and he kissed Enjolras back.</p>
<p>Enjolras’s lips were soft, softer than silk and warmer than coffee. His left hand came up to rest on Grantaire’s face, cold as ever, and his right hand found the back of his neck. His glasses, in Enjolras’s curled fist, pressed insistently against his cheek, a grounding pressure that kept him solidified in the moment. Without them, nothing could have kept him from floating off like a balloon lost by an unsteady hand.</p>
<p>Then Enjolras drove in closer, kneading Grantaire’s lips open with his own, and kissing him harder, with purpose. Grantaire felt Enjolras’s hand teasing the hair on the back of his neck, and Enjolras pressed sweet, chaste kisses onto Grantaire’s lips, and then he did nothing at all.</p>
<p>Enjolras’s entire presence, his warmth, and his cold hands, it was all suddenly missing, and Grantaire felt cold and naked in the night air without Enjolras wrapped around him. His eyes fluttered open, unwillingly, and he found Enjolras staring at him, determinedly, his fingers playing with the frame of Grantaire’s glasses.</p>
<p>“If it wasn’t for that ring,” Enjolras said, and it seemed like the words almost physically hurt.</p>
<p>Grantaire just nodded, numbly, though he had no idea what the hell Enjolras was on about.</p>
<p>“I would’ve said something sooner. But that ring, Grantaire, I thought…”</p>
<p>Grantaire realized which ring he meant, and he glanced down at the offender in question.</p>
<p>Enjolras smiled, weakly. “See, I thought God sent you to test <em>me</em>. The adulterous wedding planner. Which—speaking of,” Enjolras gestured at Grantaire’s chest with his glasses with a snap of his wrist. “What the fuck were <em>you</em> doing, if you thought I was the one getting married?”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?” Grantaire asked, but his voice came out thin and guilty.</p>
<p>Enjolras scoffed. “Well, you always emailed me back didn’t you? And asked me irrelevant shit just to watch me get mad. And, god, the way you would look at me.” Enjolras’s cheek colored with embarrassment.</p>
<p>Grantaire’s right eyebrow shot up slightly, a wicked grin rising to his lips. “How would I look at you?”</p>
<p>“You would…,” Enjolras withdrew the glasses from in between them, opting instead to pass them anxiously between his hands. “Like you wanted to fuck me.”</p>
<p>“<em>You</em> looked at <em>me</em> like you were <em>going</em> to fuck me.”</p>
<p>Enjolras looked pleased with himself. “I am.”</p>
<p>The heat on his face was back, and he could feel it in his veins. Enjolras was clearly no longer restrained by anything, and he made this abundantly clear. Enjolras drew his face nearer again, to press hot kisses down Grantaire’s neck. Grantaire’s hand slipped from his cheek and into Enjolras’s hair, which he ran his fingers through, as he let his head fall back.</p>
<p>“You threw a better wedding than I could’ve,” Enjolras admitted lips against throat, and Grantaire felt his words hum against his skin.</p>
<p>Grantaire laughed. “You’re damn right,” his fingers knotted themselves in Enjolras’s hair further, until he pulled away again. He was aggravatingly indecisive.</p>
<p>“I mean it, y’know,” he said, his voice gravely serious.</p>
<p>Grantaire’s confusion was evident.</p>
<p>“You…your whole thing…,” Enjolras swallowed. “It makes me consider getting married. I hadn’t ever thought about it before.”</p>
<p>Grantaire felt his heart in his throat, beating erratically. “Don’t say that.” Grantaire demanded, eyes darting between Enjolras’s.</p>
<p>Enjolras kissed him again.</p>
<p>“I can’t help it.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>boy that ending sure was a piece of shit huh. well. im not trying to win any awards here</p><p>N E WAY im glad to have my life back, i hope this is at the very least parsable &amp; doesnt make u cringe urself to death. cringe urself into a light coma if u absolutely must</p></blockquote></div></div>
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